


Campfire / White Hot Light

by PetrichorBather



Series: Campfire / White Hot Light [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, First Time, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, M/M, Pining, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22397155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorBather/pseuds/PetrichorBather
Summary: Jaskier's lust and love for Geralt become so overwhelming while they warm their bodies by the campfire - that he begins to almost disassociate. Jaskier doesn't expect Geralt to indulge him, but he does.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Campfire / White Hot Light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658188
Comments: 13
Kudos: 527





	Campfire / White Hot Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in a long time. I didn't expect the Geraskier/Gerlion ship to get its claws in me as deeply as it has - thus this fic was born. Writing is not my main art form but I hope someone can enjoy this.
> 
> Songs:
> 
> For the beginning: Warpaint - Set Your Arms Down
> 
> For the middle: FKA twigs - How's That
> 
> For the end: CocoRosie - Aloha Friday

As the sun lowered over the horizon, Geralt and Jaskier had already tossed wood on the fire and pitched a tent. Imbloc was breathing warmth into the landscape, but not enough for when the sun set. Now was time for the warming of their limbs around the flames as they sat next to each other. Jaskier dreaded this bit the most. He found himself staring into the dancing flames, giving himself a headache finding the brightest light, white hot.

It reminded him of the light beaming into the tavern in ribbons, where he first noticed Geralt, just barely illuminated from the window he sat beside. When at a moments notice, he disassociated, imagining himself strutting across the bar through the beams of sunlight to crawl upon the Witcher’s table. Onto his lap. Straddling the Butcher of Blaviken. Whispering, _I’ve dreamt about you, Geralt of Rivia._

Jaskier could only dream of seeing sights from around the continent, and being a witness to Geralt’s strength, so he followed him. So much of his decision was clouded by lust. Of course a woman’s body brought him pleasure, but Geralt represented a fantasy just out of reach. In his escapades surrounded by women, drinking, and storytelling, he had heard rumors about Witchers' incredible stamina. He could only imagine how it would feel to be fucked senseless for hours, by Geralt of Rivia.

But he couldn't lie and tell himself that there wasn't some deeper emotion, hiding underneath his lust, twisting his guts every time Geralt was thankful to see him safe after slaying some beast. And when the fire crackled, Jaskier would softly strum a few chords to calm his racing heart. He didn’t want to annoy Geralt any more than he felt like he already did. He was aware of the mutual fondness between them, the basic human respect. Of course, Geralt had to believe that Jaskier didn’t see him as a monster. Yes, Jaskier knew Geralt knew that he could never be afraid. Yes, there was a touch of inhumanity in those black eyes, veins descending from his eyelids. It just was. But Geralt would never mistake Jaskier for prey. Still, he prayed, yearned, his fingers blistering on the neck of his lute, voice shaking with passion for his friend of humanity, brooding in the corner. He yearned for Geralt’s fingers on his jaw. Slipping into his mouth. Tightening around his throat. Curling inside of him. Making him scream.

Jaskier felt his lust running over his body, drops of lava searing his skin, making them fall off in chunks in his mind’s eye. It was more than lust. But during these nights, camping out on small cliffsides, sharing a fire, he felt the blackness of lust eat through his heart. He would have to choke back tears, swallow the snot and tears instead of moving to grab a pitcher of water. In these moments, Jaskier bit his tongue. He knew he talked too much. He couldn’t risk speaking and letting his voice crack with want. It was enough to know that the Witcher likely could smell the lust effervescing off of his skin.

He was immobilized in Geralt’s closeness, his fingers only moving across the neck of his lute, combining various minor chords, adding vibrato, finding himself in the empty space of arpeggios. In that blackness, there was a dream - to huddle close to Geralt for warmth, but with all of him, head craned back to seek those piercing amber eyes. To say, _I love you, Geralt._

Jaskier’s mind began to drift, watching the dancing flames, unable to look at Geralt. It would hurt too much, in these moments. Masturbation would be humiliating with Geralt too close. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from whining his name, as he reached as close to his prostate as possible. The strums of his lute faltered, fingers stuttering on buzzing strings, but he didn’t notice too much, the crackling of the fire now the only thing filling the silence. The flames lapped at the wood, searing pieces off, curling, burning white hot against the rich blackness of the ash and soil…

“Jaskier.” Geralt spoke quietly, snapping Jaskier out of his daze with a twitch. Jaskier could not reply. His voice was caught in his throat. He could feel the waves of lust lapping at Geralt’s ankles.

Geralt narrowed his eyes. It was not often that Jaskier avoided speaking. Geralt tried again, voice lower.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier couldn’t stop his body from shuddering at Geralt’s gravelly voice. For years, he had imagined that voice asking how hard Jaskier wanted to be fucked. He looked to Geralt, to see his eyes burning into him with curiosity. Jaskier’s expression could have seemed angry to a passerby, but in this context, Geralt knew the reason behind Jaskier’s widened pupils and glassy eyes. Jaskier gripped the neck of his lute, the strings stinging his fingers. It was the one thing grounding him to reality.

“Yes, Geralt?”

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked curtly. Jaskier was silent. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He felt his chest cracking open, as he tried to control his breathing with what strength he had left.

_We could head to the coast. Get away for a while._

“Something’s wrong. Don’t lie and tell me there isn’t.” Geralt furrowed his brow. Jaskier’s breath hitched in his throat. There was too much to say. He knew he had to release it, but there were too many scenarios where he imagined what was impossible, like turning around to Geralt’s face while riding on Roach to rest his head against Geralt’s jaw. And slipping into the bath and massging _every_ part of him.

“Ever since I saw you in that tavern at the edge of the world, Geralt - I knew wanted you.” Jaskier’s voice cracked and he allowed himself a sob. He felt the lust flare up inside him until it turned to anger. “Every time we pass through a town and I watch a woman slide her hands all over you, begging for you to ravish her, all I can do is sit and watch out of the corner of my eye and imagine what it feels like to be her. I have written ballad after ballad of my love for you, and I can never tell if you care.”

Geralt didn’t grunt in reply, but he kept his eyes on Jaskier. Summoning any last ounce of bravery he had left in this moment, Jaskier moved closer to Geralt, too close for two friends. He allowed the flames of lust burning in his limbs to light up his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he spoke again. He let his voice quiet and fall into his lower register.

“I know it seems stupid for a _silly_ _bard_ to follow a Witcher. I know I should be afraid of the monsters, or you… And I am afraid of the monsters.” The words tumbled out of Jaskier until he had to finish his sentence. “But I come with you for your contracts because I… just want to be with you.”

Geralt realized why he could never smell fear on Jaskier. Only fresh leaves and earth. Jaskier continued.

“When it’s cold,” he set his lute in the soil with shaking fingers, allowing a few more tears to fall. He never feared Geralt. Nothing could match the fear of verbally confronting his emotions. “I wish I could feel _all of you_ against me. _”_

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, and didn’t move a muscle. Jaskier felt himself wanting to scream, scream all the birds out of the clearing. Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s face until their noses touched. Geralt didn’t flinch, just squinted his eyes further, as if to read Jaskier’s emotions. Their breath mingled in the silence.

Jaskier allowed himself to lean over, steadying himself with one arm. He kissed Geralt’s jaw softly, and wrapped his fingers in his hair. He moved his lips against Geralt’s skin, then placing a kiss on his neck. Jaskier’s whole body shook now and he allowed himself to sob into Geralt’s shoulder, releasing the emotion he held back for years.

Geralt finally moved, grabbing Jaskier’s hips with both his hands and pulling him onto his leg. Jaskier gasped and tightened his grip on Geralt’s hair, running his other hand down Geralt’s bicep and squeezing. He whimpered and ground hips against Geralt’s leather-clad thigh. Geralt’s grip tightened on Jaskier’s hips.

His sobs faltered, and he spoke again. “I want you. I want to be yours. I don’t care about maidens in my bed anymore. They were just a distraction… No one compares to you.” Jaskier allowed himself to run his hand down Geralt’s chest with pressure and bit his lip as he massaged his chest through his jerkin.

“Your strength, your heart…” Jaskier spoke against Geralt’s neck. “I love it all. Even the parts you don’t. Even the parts you think make you a monster. They’re just mutations. It just is. I don’t. Fucking. Care.” Jaskier finally pushed a kiss to Geralt’s lips and moaned, higher than the words he’d spoken.

Geralt allowed all of it, and Jaskier placed more kisses on Geralt’s lips. Geralt remembered the occasions where he would discover Jaskier bathing in a river, his skin glimmering in the sunlight, and wonder how his asscheeks would feel in his grip. He remembered the moments when Jaskier would slip away from camp into the forest to masturbate. When he returned, there was a darkness surrounding him. He knew, in the back of his mind. But he was afraid, afraid to indulge the bard and his way with words. Would he write an exploitative ballad? Let it go to his head?

Jaskier couldn’t help but grind his hips against Geralt’s thigh faster now as he kissed him, his moans rising in pitch. He moved his hand away from Geralt’s chest to trace over Geralt’s fingers where they rested on his hips. Jaskier pulled his lips from Geralt’s and tilted his head back, exposing his throat. He breathed in softly and whispered, “Geralt, I need your fingers around my throat. _Take what’s yours._ ”

Geralt felt himself grow hard at the sight of Jaskier’s throat. He remembered moments in his youth and adulthood where he wouldn’t allow himself to feel shameful about indulging in pleasure with another boy or a man. In the present, he never turned down a spontaneous chance for sex with a woman in a passing town, or with Yennefer upon meeting her. Why not get a chance to enjoy what Jaskier was offering?

In the moments where Geralt assessed the situation, Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed and he moaned softly, just at the very idea of The White Wolf examining his neck like his next meal. Geralt finally leaned forward and allowed himself to put his nose to Jaskier's neck and truly inhale. Jaskier released an embarrassing, shuddering breath. Geralt couldn't help but smirk at the way the bard was falling apart for him already. The smell of lust on him was heady and _thick._ He knew Jaskier always had a tinge of citrus in his scent. His very essence was sex. And Jaskier could say the same about Geralt - although his was hidden behind some defensive walls. But Geralt felt those instincts calling him to _bite, mark, claim._

"Hmmm." Geralt smirked and raised an eyebrow at Jaskier. His hum of approval had a tinge of hunger to it, Jaskier could hear it in the way his voice lowered. Still looking at Jaskier, he lowered his lips to the base of Jaskier's neck and opened his mouth. Geralt's upper lip twitched a bit and Jaskier bit his lower lip at the sight of his canines to which Jaskier purred,

 _"Do it,_ Witcher." Geralt moved one hand from Jaskier’s hips to the side of his throat and squeezed lightly, before sinking his teeth into where his neck meets his shoulder. He sucked a bruise onto Jaskier's skin like it was a delicacy. Jaskier squealed, his voice trailing off and lowering at the end. "It's all for you..." He cooed, rutted his hips against Geralt’s thigh. Though his breathing was slightly restricted, he still could whine out the words,

“Geralt, your voice makes me _so_ wet… _Everything_ about you makes me want to get on my knees. Serve you.”

"Hmmm." Geralt growled at the bard’s dirty talk, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. Geralt pulled Jaskier’s ear to his mouth, squeezing his neck again.“You really want me bad, don’t you.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier choked out, eyes glassy with lust now instead of tears, cheeks flushed from adrenaline.

“Then get on your knees.” Geralt growled. Jaskier’s eyes lit up, exhilarated, and he dropped to his knees to undo the buttons of Geralt’s pants. He could feel himself salivating, his pants feeling tighter, as he worked his hands over Geralt’s bulge. Geralt groaned low in his chest as he felt Jaskier mouth over his cock through the leather. When Jaskier finally loosened the drawstring of Geralt’s underpants and freed his cock, drool was pooling at his lips as he licked them.

“Melitele…” Jaskier moaned, licking a wide stripe from the base to Geralt’s head. Geralt growled with pleasure and fisted Jaskier’s hair, pulling him against his cock and pressing it into Jaskier’s cheek.

"Hungry for my cock, aren’t you, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, submitting to the fantasy he had about shutting the bard up this way.

Geralt smiled as Jaskier placed kisses up Geralt’s shaft, looking up at him with eyes on fire. “Yes sir.” Jaskier crooned.

He took Geralt in his mouth, sucking hungrily and working his way down. _Gods,_ Jaskier had waited _years_ to taste this. Geralt hissed, unraveling. No woman or man had ever taken him in their mouth so passionately in the past few years he’d been alive. The way Jaskier lapped at his cock, looked up into his eyes like a puppy, small moans leaving his throat, stoked the flames forming in Geralt’s core. He felt himself baring his teeth, becoming afraid of the idea of reciprocating Jaskier’s lust. The cool breeze on his skin was a blessing, as the waves heat from the campfire and the fire in Jaskier’s groin seemed to combine to lap up at him. Jaskier took Geralt to the back of his throat, head bobbing up and down, breathing in through his nose to keep his body calm. He couldn’t stop himself from moaning as he sucked, it really was as big as he had heard. Geralt held a constant growl in his chest as he followed Jaskier’s head with his hand, tightening his grip on his hair.

Soon, Jaskier pulled off of Geralt with an exaggerated pop and a string of saliva between the two of them. The very sight sent a bolt of lust down Geralt’s spine. Jaskier purred darkly, “You’re _so_ fucking delicious, Geralt, I can’t take it anymore. I need you inside me.” Jaskier’s eyes glowed with burning intensity and his lips curled upward in a smirk. “Will you take me to the tent, sir? Slick me up and _fuck me_ , Witcher?”

Geralt let out a loud growl at Jaskier’s dirty talk, almost angry that it was affecting him so deeply. He never thought that the bard’s sexual prowess could apply to him. But clearly, Jaskier had been wanting to drop to his knees for Geralt for a long time, to be one of the maidens that ran their hands up his biceps, asking about his infamous Witcher stamina, Geralt realized. Geralt did not hesitate to bend down from the log they were sitting on and scoop Jaskier up, throw him over his shoulders, and walk briskly to the tent.

Once inside, Geralt tossed Jaskier down onto his bedroll. Jaskier grunted from the pain as he landed, but he was rock hard at the idea of being tossed onto a bed by the White Wolf, who was tossing his jerkin and undershirt to the ground. Jaskier’s face told Geralt he was about to make some snide comment, some banter, so Geralt knelt at the edge of the bedroll to finish the task that Jaskier started of removing his trousers. Geralt didn’t want to destroy them, as it would be a day until they would reach the next town. But he yanked them to Jaskier’s ankles aggressively before tossing them behind him.

Geralt’s growl built in his chest until it snapped into a snarl. “You think you can just get me worked up, huh? That what you want, my songbird? You wanna get me so worked up I can’t help but fuck you senseless?” Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s cock and jerked it until the pearls of precum were enough for Geralt to scoop in his fingers - which didn’t take long - and rub at Jaskier’s opening.

“No shit, Geralt, do you know how many times I’ve thought about you fucking me when your eyes are black? Thought about you biting into my neck and drinking me like the whore I am?” Geralt raised an eyebrow at his banter and slid his first finger in. Jaskier moaned wantonly and arched his back, raising his ass to give Geralt better access. Geralt began to thrust with one finger, and Jaskier was already complaining. “ _Please_ Geralt, it’s so good sir, please…”

"Mmm, so demanding. It's for your comfort, Jaskier." he purred. Jaskier whined. So Geralt inserted a second finger and began to scissor, slowly spreading Jaskier open and gently searching for his prostate. Jaskier squealed in delight. Geralt smirked and purred, “You really do moan like a whore.” Once his fingers found that sweet bundle of nerves, Jaskier just screamed.

“That’s what happens when you torture me with your beauty, keeping it just out of reach for so long!” Jaskier felt his lust-turned-anger flare in his throat, through his moans. 

Geralt withdrew his fingers, Jaskier whining at the loss. He moved the hand he was using to steady himself and grabbed both of Jaskier’s ankles, lifting up his lower body so he could deliver a hard _smack_ to Jaskier’s ass. It sent a wave of pleasure through Jaskier's balls and straight to his cock.

“Watch your mouth, bard.” Geralt growled through a sneer. “What’s stopping me from ignoring my urges just to torture you some more? Huh?” and smacked Jaskier’s ass again. Jaskier groaned, drowning in lust. The sting was hot, but not as hot as the fire burning outside the tent, and in his gut. It was the beautiful sin he had prayed for, whispering, _Melitele, let Geralt mark me, Melitele, let Geralt see I am his._

Geralt could feel Jaskier buzzing with adoration, his eyes tinged with ecstacy. "Geralt, I have prayed to the gods for you to lay your hands on me.” Lava seared over Jaskier's soul, his small smile disappearing. Tears began to form in Jaskier’s eyes as he realized he did indeed have to beg for Geralt to destroy him like he always wanted.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt, I need it! Please fuck me, Geralt, please, sir, want you to fuck me until I can't walk! Fuck me until I scream your name so loud that the gods know who I belong to!"

“Fuck.” Geralt growled as he released Jaskier’s legs growled and spit generously into his hand. He massaged Jaskier’s entrance before shoving three fingers into him, thrusting with strength at a torturously slow pace, brushing Jaskier’s prostate every time. Jaskier counted ten thrusts and his eyes began to flutter closed. He felt his limbs starting to tingle, he could fall into this paradise with just three of Geralt’s fingers and be grateful. Words to a ballad of Geralt’s rough fingers and glistening muscles spun in his mind the like leaves dancing in the wind outside.

“Thank you sir,” Jaskier whispered as his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Good boy. It’s nice to not see you _complaining_ for once, Jaskier.” Geralt purred and rubbed the head of his cock over Jaskier’s flushed asshole. “You ready for me?”

“Yes sir. I-I have oil…” Jaskier breathed. “Over in my pack…” and gestured weakly across the tent. His limbs were softening, his body vibrating, his consciousness almost ascending from his body. He only sighed as Geralt withdrew his fingers to reach into Jaskier’s pack. The sight of a half-clothed Geralt, popping the cork on the oil and slathering it on his cock made Jaskier think he was going to faint.

“I’m not even in you yet and you’re already gonna fall asleep, huh? Maybe I should wake you up a bit.” Geralt smirked as he rubbed oil over Jaskier’s asshole. He pushed two fingers in, then three, to oil Jaskier up further inside to prepare him - evidence of the heart capable of mercy that Jaskier felt himself slipping further into adoration of as each day passed.

Jaskier gasped again at the sudden pleasure and bit his lip, and he couldn’t help but smile. “It’s so good, Geralt, so good…” He purred, and felt himself salivating again. Geralt smiled almost arrogantly, and Jaskier swooned at the sight of Geralt’s canines. Geralt leaned down to Jaskier’s throat, and Jaskier arched his back again, tilted his head to give Geralt access. He licked from the base of Jaskier’s throat to his chin before burying his nose in the soft skin and scenting him. Now, it was Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes back from the pure deliciousness of the man in front of him. The smell of Jaskier’s arousal was too much. He licked his lips to fully savor the taste.

He returned to his position at the end of the bedroll on his knees, and began rubbing the head of his cock around Jaskier’s asshole. He never stopped smiling, especially at Jaskier’s wanton cries. “You sure you ready for this?” Geralt purred, stroking his cock with the oil again.

“Yes, Geralt! I have been _dreaming_ of this moment for _years_.” Jaskier whined and bucked his hips towards Geralt’s cock. “Please, Geralt…”

Geralt bit his lip and gently began to inch himself into Jaskier with gentle thrusts. Jaskier squealed when he felt himself spreading open to accomodate Geralt’s size. With each inch Geralt pushed, Jaskier’s moans increased in pitch. The candlelight spreads over Jaskier’s skin, flushed, and slick with sweat. He was bucking his hips to meet Geralt’s gentle thrusts, eyes closed, obviously in ecstasy.

“How many maidens make you feel like this, hm?” Geralt growled as he gripped Jaskier’s hips, gently pulling Jaskier towards the bottom of his cock. He held Jaskier there for a while to let him adjust.

“None of them, Geralt… I told you…” Jaskier breathed slowly. “I was just trying to keep myself from starving as I waited for you, _sir.”_ Jaskier licked his lips and thrusted his hips towards Geralt, moaning.

“That’s it, Jaskier, try and fuck me, show me how much you want it.” Geralt burred. “Beg for it.”

“Please, sir, please fuck me, am I tight for you? It’s all for you, Geralt, please take it…” Jaskier placed his legs on Geralt’s shoulders seductively and screamed when Geralt thrust particularly hard and he didn’t expect it. “Fuck my fucking brains out, Witcher, please!!”

“Good boy. You know about my stamina, so you better hold on as tight as you can, little lark…” Geralt burred. He leaned down over Jaskier, thin white strands touching Jaskier’s chest and pulled out almost all the way before thrusting back in. Geralt went harder than any woman or man ever had for Jaskier - and set a brutal, punishing pace that Jaskier could no longer keep up with. His moans immediately spiked in volume, his breaths punctuated with every time Geralt bottomed out inside Jaskier. Geralt’s grip on his hips were starting to leave bruises. Jaskier was just unable to stop stop the flow of adoration from his lips, even with Geralt pounding him generously.

“I-love-it-Ger-alt… I-love-your-cock-sir… It’s-so-good… A-a-a-ahhh…” Jaskier’s eyes closed as he relished the feeling of Geralt marking him with his hands.

“Such a dirty bard, aren’t you…” Geralt purred, before swooping Jaskier up, still on his cock, rolling onto his back, and placing Jaskier on top of him. “Now I can _really_ fuck you.” He set the same punishing pace, fucking up into the tight, wet heat of Jaskier’s body. He placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder to pull his face closer, before placing his hand back on Jaskier’s hips and fucking the daylights out of him. Geralt felt his pupils blowing wide and wider as he gave into his animalistic senses. Never before had he been with someone _so_ dirty. He just kept talking, a litany of filth spilling from his mouth.

“You’re-split-ting-me-op-en… So-good-Ger-alt… So-fuck-ing-big…” Jaskier’s voice cracked as Geralt adjusted the angle of his thrusts, searching for Jaskier’s prostate. It didn’t take long for him to find it. Once he did, Jaskier just screamed, tears quickly forming and falling down his cheeks. He could no longer speak. The birds in a tree nearby squawked and flapped in a chorus as they fled.

“So this is all I had to do to shut you up?” Geralt growled through gritted teeth, before sinking them into where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder, sucking a bruise into his skin. Jaskier screamed louder, body completely overwhelmed with pleasure. Fireworks bloomed behind his eyes, inside his limbs, washing over whole body as Geralt snapped his hips up towards a Jaskier at a rapid pace. Jaskier relished in the feral sounds that were leaving Geralt’s lips, and found the hot spring tightening in his gut. He was getting close, and couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Ger-alt-…I’m-gon-na-cum…” he whined , and Geralt smirked. He took a hand off of Jaskier’s hips to jerk his cock that was swelling and dripping.

“You wanna cum for me, songbird?” Geralt growled into his ear.

“Yes-sir!!” Jaskier groaned, writhing as the colors behind his eyes danced and flashed, the combination of friction between his cock and Geralt's stomach and Geralt’s thrusts pushing him over the edge. He moaned obscenely as he shot thick ropes of white onto Geralt’s chest. Geralt did not let up, still snapping his hips up and pulling Jaskier’s down to meet his. A constant growl formed in his chest again, getting louder and louder.

Jaskier began to lose track of time, as Geralt seemed to fuck his oversensitive body for over an hour. Jaskier had never imagined sex like this. The edges of the orange candlelight, their supplies and the fabric of the tent blurred. Jaskier tried hard not to fetishize Geralt, but the nature of his humanity was just different. Humanity was beaten out of him, yes, but not completely. The empathy and gentleness that kept humans alive for so long was just as present in Geralt as his mutagens. Those mutagens happened to involve a strength and stamina so unparalleled that in addition to killing monsters, he could fuck someone until they felt like they were inside a watercolor painting.

Witcher stamina was unreal, but Jaskier’s walls clenching around him was tightening the spring in Geralt’s groin just enough so he could peer over the edge of his orgasm. Geralt pressed his lips to Jaskier’s forehead and his groan reverberates through Jaskier’s whole body.

“Jaskier, I’m gonna cum.” Geralt was also inside the same watercolor painting. He looked to the face of a man who had shown immense bravery, joining him on quests and hiding the lust well enough that Geralt could only just sense that _something_ was off. Now, that man was completely falling apart on his cock, keening and panting. His eyelashes grouped together with his tears, his blue eyes glowing with euphoria. He was absolutely gorgeous. And with that, Geralt fell over the edge.

He felt his release fill Jaskier so he thrust all the way into him again, fucking his cum into him. Jaskier’s walls felt like silk. His whole body felt like silk. Geralt felt like silk too, despite the iron-clad grip he had on the bard. Geralt breathed deeply into Jaskier’s ear as he gradually reduced the speed of his thrusts. Jaskier let out a breathy, shuddering moan, one of Geralt’s favorite melodies of the night. There was something so delicate in him, even after he was begging for the roughest ride in his life.

Jaskier felt tears welling up in his eyes again. Was this it? A high that he would never be able to reach again? Would he destroy a friendship he treasured so deeply just to alleviate the gaping wound of his lust like a selfish ass? He wanted to lay inside Geralt’s grip forever. He wanted to head to the coast. He was in love. He gripped Geralt’s biceps and wept.

Geralt felt the wetness from Jaskier’s tears and bent his head back to look at his face.

“Jaskier.” he spoke curtly, just as he did beside the campfire. Jaskier took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, still feeling the waves of orgasm slipping off his body and occupying the tent with a glimmer of redviolet.

“Geralt, I’m… scared. You’re so amazing, and I don’t want to fuck it up. If you don’t want this again, I'll survive. But your friendship is _ev-erything_ to me…” his voice cracked as he tried to calm his breathing. Geralt furrowed his brow as he felt his gut twisting. _Run away from your emotions_ , his training taught him. But they were always there, the underground riverbed that thrummed in his veins. He remembered the fear he felt when his love for Yennefer claimed his soul. There was no doubt, he cared for the bard that was nuzzling into his collarbone. Maybe he could just leave it at that for now.

“Jaskier, I’m not going anywhere.” Geralt grunted in response. He traced small shapes over Jaskier’s shoulder blades in an attempt to relax him. Jaskier sniffed and nodded his head in reluctant agreement. He wanted to feel Geralt’s seed inside him constantly, to lay against Geralt and feel his warmth, his beautifully chiseled chest rising and falling. To feel Geralt’s hot breath on his face. He knew he couldn’t have this every night, that Geralt wasn’t one for acknowledging his affection, or any other emotion for that matter.

“Promise?” Jaskier whispered.

“I promise.” Geralt burred softly. “You should rest. But let’s clean up first.”


End file.
